Popsicles
by Shadowpool95
Summary: First installment of my (planned) Favorites series, in which we get a glimpse of what each of the Avengers like. Yes, it's headcanon. No, I don't care if you don't agree. Pairings include Clintasha, Pepperony, and Thane. Rating subject to change.


These are short stories about the Avengers favorite kind of popsicles. My own headcanon. You may agree. Or you may not. If the case is moreso the 'not', I don't care.

Disclaimer: Avengers aren't mine. Neither are popsicles. I can own _A_ popsicle. In which case I do. But I don't own popsicles.

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**Natasha**

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Clint woke up to the sound of aggressive sneezing. He counted three-

Four-

Five-

Six…

Nose blowing, followed by Russian curses grumbled in a raspy voice.

No, it couldn't be.

Clint groggily opened his eyes to look at the digital clock on the table next to his bed.

7:46

Getting a bit late there. He and Natasha would normally have been up at least an hour and a half ago. Normally. If this was a normal day. But, judging by the sniffling going on next to him, this was not a normal day.

Natasha had a cold.

The archer rolled over to look at his partner. "You alright, Tash?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"Just peachy," Natasha croaked. She was sitting up, leaning against the headboard amidst a mound of pillows and her blanket. A bit more than a few used tissues were crumpled up around her, and she was shivering.

"You cold?" Clint propped himself up on his elbows.

Natasha sneezed again with a groan. "Freezing."

He gently pressed a calloused hand to her cheek, then forehead. "No you're not, Nat, you're burning up." Clint took back his hand and climbed out of bed. "Why didn't you get any medicine?" He walked to his master bathroom.

"Too cold," she mumbled, balling up another tissue.

"Then why didn't you wake me?" he asked, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Where was the cold medicine?

"You were sleeping."

His search fruitless, Clint returned to the bedroom. "Hence my use of the term 'wake'."

Natasha coughed but didn't reply to his banter. She swung her legs off the bed and made to stand up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are we doing?" Clint darted forward to steady her as she shakily stayed on her feet out of pure determination.

"We should have started training an hour ago," she rasped, trying to resist her partner's efforts of restraint.

"We just got back from a mission two days ago." He firmly pushed her back down on the bed. "We can afford a break."

She pushed back at his hands. "The paperwork-"

"You know very well that Coulson makes us finish that as soon as we get back any more." Clint gently nudged Natasha fully onto the bed as she tried to think of another argument.

"What about work?" she shot at him triumphantly, not seeing a counter argument for this angle. "It's not like I can just miss it."

Clint rolled his eyes and pushed her shoulder until she was once again lying down. "You have at least a 100 degree fever and can't stop sneezing to save your-"

His words were interrupted by a violent sneeze form Natasha.

"-life." He cast her a pointed look and handed over the box of tissues from the bedside table. "I believe that warrants a sick day or two." He pulled her blanket over her, grabbed his, and draped that over her too. "You have enough unused sick days to cover the next year, at least. Fury won't even bat an eyelash."

Natasha stared at her partner mutinously as she wiped her nose.

Clint grimaced. He knew she had nothing against staying in bed all day. Rather, it was the fact that she looked weak and needed someone to take care of her.

The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him with a dark scowl. Her look of loathing, however fierce, was ruined by her red nose and puffy, fever-gray eyes. Clint had to work to hide his smile. "Are you hungry?" he asked, reaching over to brush a few strands of hair from her clammy forehead.

"No," she rasped, all sore throat, stuffy nose, and foul mood.

"… Would you like a popsicle?"

Natasha didn't answer at first. But finally she caved and turned to look at him. "Yeah," she sighed with a painful looking swallow.

"Cherry?" he asked, though it was really unnecessary. He knew it was her favorite flavor.

"Cherry," she confirmed, burrowing her face into her nest of pillows and blankets.


End file.
